Love Struck
by WillowDryad
Summary: Oreius knows everything about winning battles and nothing about winning hearts, but perhaps Sweethearts' Day is the best time to try.


**Disclaimer: All the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. Oreius belongs to Disney or Walden Media or somebody like that. Still not to me. Demeter is mine.**

LOVE STRUCK

As if it had desired to outdo the Queen Susan in her Sweethearts' Day preparations, the forest today was a display of Snowbrice's best. The trees were silvered with ice, laced with a frothy white layer of fresh snow over the greens of the pines and shiny mistletoe and dotted with red winter berries.

Two distinct sets of prints marked snowy forest path. One was made by four hooves, large and decisive, a warrior's iron-shod hooves. The other set was smaller, daintier, the gait sidling near the other rather than striding straight forward.

Oreius kept his eyes on the path ahead as the dark-haired Centaur mare walked beside him. Neither of them had spoken since, following her shy acceptance of his invitation to accompany him, he had run out of things to say. He wanted to ask her to attend the Sweethearts' Day ball with him the following night, and, if he were to be honest with himself, he wanted to ask her something else, something much more important.

As they reached the tree-crowned summit that gave them a clear, shining view of Cair Paravel and the gray winter sea beyond, Oreius cleared his throat. "You are not too cold, Lady?"

A smile touched Demeter's sweet lips. "It is a lovely day, and no, I am not cold."

He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to think of something better to talk to her about.

"The filly is well seen to. I would not have you worry."

Demeter's light laugh was like silver bells in the snow. "Celina loves playing with the Kings. Why should I worry?"

Oreius rubbed the back of his neck again. It had been a foolish thing to say. The Kings would look after the little one as if she were their own. Indeed, why should Demeter worry?

It would help if she would choose something to talk about, but she only stood at his side, her dark eyes on him, unmoving but for the occasional flick of her luxuriant black tail.

"Demeter," he said at last, putting her arm through his, admiring the dainty fair-skinned hand against his sinewy brown arm.

She looked at him expectantly.

"There is a matter I would like to speak to you about."

Still she only looked at him, her black-lashed eyes warm and yet uncertain.

He cleared his throat and, with a huff, he started them walking again. They were almost halfway back to the Cair when he finally found his voice.

"As you are aware," he said, and then he winced inwardly when the words came out in a tone more suitable for issuing orders to his troops than for making the declaration he had in mind.

He started again. "The Sweethearts' Day ball will take place tomorrow evening. I would be greatly honored if you would accompany me."

Demeter lowered her eyes to the path ahead, her cheeks flushed with pleasure. "It is I who would be honored."

Oreius gave her a curt nod. That was the easy part of it. Steeling himself, he went on. "In addition, in view of recent events and my increasing cognizance—" He shook his head. This was not a tactical planning meeting.

"Demeter."

His voice was suddenly husky, untrustworthy, and he glanced down the tree-lined path. They'd be back at the Cair in another moment. He must speak.

Still walking, he turned his eyes on her again, bending his head to bring it closer to hers, unable to look away from the delicate face framed with lush dark hair. She did look away.

"There is something else I must ask you," he said at last, walking faster, "something I have hardly dared consider but have wished since that dark time when first we met."

Her eyes widened. "Oreius, please—"

"No, you must hear me." The Cair was drawing nearer, he knew, even though he did not look away from her. He had to speak and speak now. "I know you have been deeply hurt in the past, and I have not wanted to hurry you into any kind of—"

"Oreius, you must—"

"I am no longer a colt, and had long thought perhaps Aslan meant me to serve Him and have no other in my life, but now—"

"Oreius, the tree!"

He looked up just in time to see the thick branch that struck him across the forehead. With an explosion of little gold stars behind his eyes, he stumbled to his knees and then felt his hindquarters collapse behind him.

Soft hands immediately cupped his face. Dark eyes filled with concern immediately searched his. "Oh. Are you all right? Oreius?"

He screwed his eyes shut, trying to make the trees stop spinning around him, trying to keep from toppling to his side.

"Orieus?" She moved her hands from his face to his shoulders and then to his upper arms. "Oreius, speak to me."

He blinked at her and could think of only one thing to say.

"Will you marry me?"

OOOOO

Oreius stood on the balcony of the Cair's great hall looking out over the white-capped sea. Once she had helped him get back home the day before, Demeter had hurriedly excused herself and disappeared. He hadn't seen her again until tonight. She hadn't been in her quarters when he had called for her. Lady Moonrose, who was looking after Demeter's little filly for her, had told him she had already left for the Sweethearts' Day ball.

And he had found her there, looking ethereally lovely in a tunic of shimmering silver damask and with her hair falling in a dark, curling cascade from the top of her head and well past her shoulders. Her dark tail was styled in the same way, and her dainty hooves were polished to a glass-like sheen. When she saw him coming toward her, her long black lashes fell to her ivory cheeks, and she lowered her head in a bow.

"Good evening."

"Good evening, Lady."

He wanted to look into those eyes, to see if he had spoken amiss before, to see if he had offended her by the offer he had blurted out, but when she looked up there was only that searching uncertainty he had seen there many times before. They danced, still not speaking, and then she had excused herself and disappeared into the crowd.

What a fool he'd been. She was too frightened now. She had been through too much. It was too soon. Or maybe she just didn't care for him as he cared for her. Oh, Aslan, could he have been so wrong?

It took him a moment to realize she was there beside him now, looking out over the sea and saying nothing.

"Lady," he said.

She looked up at him, her eyes still searching, until he had to look away. What did she mean looking at him in such a way if she did not care for him?

"Lady," he said again, that huskiness coming back into his voice. "Demeter. Will you not answer me? Even if it is to refuse me, will you not answer me?"

Her cheeks were already pink from the cold and the wind, but they somehow grew pinker. "I did not like to take advantage of your . . . incapacity."

He looked at her, bewildered, and then he put one hand to the good-sized lump in the middle of his forehead. "Ah."

"If it was something spoken only because you did not know what you were saying . . . "

Those searching dark eyes were full of tears now, those sweet lips were trembling.

"But I did. I knew exactly what I was saying." Not trusting his voice, he brought her hand to his lips. "It merely took a large tree branch to knock the words out of me."

She giggled a little, and he pulled her closer.

"Please," he said, his voice suddenly gruff. "I have no way with courtly talk. I can only tell you what is in my heart. It is full to overflowing with love for you and your little one. She is precious to me, and it would make me as proud to call her daughter as it would for me to call you wife. Will you?" He leaned his cheek against hers and breathed against the delicate pointed curve of her ear. "Will you, my love?"

Nodding, she melted into his embrace, clinging to him as he poured into that lovely ear every word he had to describe his love for her. And though the words were sadly inadequate, she seemed to understand each one.

THE END

**Author's Note: There you go. It's official at last. I'd love to know what you think. Sweethearts' Day in Narnia (since they wouldn't have had a St. Valentine) was Lady Alambiel's brilliant idea, one she is kind enough to let me borrow. I also (scandalously and without permission) borrowed a month from elecktrum's lovely Narnia calendar, so I hope she'll accept it, along with my thanks, as an homage and not petty theft. If you'd like to know how Oreius and Demeter met, you can find out in my story _Wind's Harvest _and more in_ A Little Sweetheart. _Happy Sweethearts' Day, Narniacs!  
**


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